


If nobody's around, what's stopping us?

by theravengang



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Courtship, First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kinda, M/M, Street Racing, the dream pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravengang/pseuds/theravengang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He observed Ronan for a moment before his wrist flashed out and he flicked his keys to Ronan. The glint of the key caught in the weak moonlight and Ronan caught it, swallowing when instead of a keychain, he found the keys attached to a loop of knotted leather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If nobody's around, what's stopping us?

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from single by the neighbourhood  
> the lyrics are from is there somewhere by halsey  
> I do not commend any of the behaviours in this fic

_White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the night life._

_You told me this is right where it begins._

The thought crept into Ronan’s mind when Kavinsky roped him into a street racing party and was leaning out his window, hurling profanities at the driver he’d beaten.  It was late, past two in the morning and Ronan was sitting in the passenger seat of the Mitsubishi. The pounding stereo vibrated his bones and jolted his heart into his throat when he turned his head and caught sight of the boy next to him.

Kavinsky looked almost like he was illuminated, with his skin in sharp contrast to the shadows and the dark interior of the car. He turned the car back to the party, and Ronan thought the light from the other headlights was making his eyes gleam, but that could’ve been the adrenaline from the victory or the powder he'd snorted off the dashboard before starting the engine. His lips were red, parted and chapped. His hair was sticking in half a dozen different directions under the rim of the backward hat he wore, and his trademark sunglasses were hooked in his tank top, pulling it down to reveal pale skin. Ronan thought something about his voice sounded alive with recklessness and chaos. Or maybe Ronan was projecting.

There was something humming beneath his skin and in his heartbeat, itching, trying to get out.

It lurked in the back of his mind, slipping in and out with the other secrets he kept, and Ronan didn’t let himself think of it.

//

_I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go._

_Is there somewhere you can meet me?_

One week later there was an unfamiliar thumping through his too-loud headphones. His first thought was that it was Gansey knocking on his bedroom door asking for permission to enter, and he recalled that Gansey wasn’t at Monmouth; after Ronan declined the invitation to go along with him, Gansey had left to pay a visit to 300 Fox Way with a warning to not destroy anything while he was gone.

So far Ronan hadn’t.

He was walking toward the window before he’d had his headphones out long enough to identify the He was walking toward the window before he’d had his headphones out long enough to identify the sound, and the sight below his window was what he expected it would be.

It was stark white paint and a sharp knife graphic, with trouble leaning against it.

Even from two stories up Ronan could see the vibrations the stereo was transferring into his frame, but Kavinsky looked comfortable with his arms crossed, head tilted up, and trademark sunglasses in place.

He spotted Ronan in the huge window and beckoned him down with a crooked finger and a lazy smile.

Ronan skipped collecting his keys and went down to the parking lot without them.  When he stopped in front of Kavinsky instead of heading toward the BMW the other boy’s grin grew wider.

“Riding with me, sweetheart?”

Even through the tinted sunglasses, Ronan held Kavinsky’s gaze. “Depends on where you’re planning to go.”

Kavinsky pushed himself off the side of the Mitsu and stepped close enough to Ronan that he could feel Kavinsky’s breath on his face. “Someplace to make trouble.”

Ronan stepped around him and got in the Mitsubishi.

They left Monmouth’s parking lot as Gansey entered it. The Mitsubishi and the Pig slowed at the same time, ending side by side. Kavinsky rolled down his window to match Gansey’s open one.

Through the window, Ronan could see one of Gansey’s masks slipped into place, the one that meant he was angry but too tired to fight over it. His white knuckles on the steering wheel and the way his eyes flicked toward Monmouth gave it away.

He must’ve sounded cool and in control to Kavinsky, but all Ronan could hear was exhaustion and worry.

“There is an explanation for this, yes?”

Ronan knew he was being addressed, but Kavinsky answered. “I’m just taking your dog out for a walk, Dick. It’s not good to keep them cooped up, they get antsy.”

Gansey moved over Kavinsky and met Ronan’s eyes. Beneath his gaze, Ronan could see the frustration, the lecture he was tired of giving, and the undiluted concern for his best friend.

Ronan looked away. Kavinsky found the gas pedal and the Mitsubishi wailed for a split-second before they were ripping out of the parking lot and onto an empty stretch of road.

Ronan’s pulse was rabbiting in his chest and wished he could run away with it.

He allowed himself a cautious version of it. _This is freedom._

//

_And I try to refrain but you're stuck in my brain._

_And all I do is cry and complain because second's not the same._

Three days passed without Kavinsky’s pestering and then Ronan found himself sitting under a bright umbrella outside of an ice cream shop. Kavinsky was sitting across from him tapping his fingertips on the metal table while his pack of dogs fooled about at the table somewhere behind them.

On the table between them was the largest sundae the shop offered. There was one spoon sticking out of the bowl and another on a stack of napkins next to it.

Kavinsky stilled his hands and slid his sunglasses off his face. He propped his chin on a fist and watched Ronan like he was waiting for something.

Neither the staring nor the silence made Ronan uncomfortable. What did, was the expectancy written on every line of Kavinsky’s face. Ronan felt as though they were playing a game and it was his turn.

Ronan didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there but the ice cream was starting to melt and the bowl was sweating.

Kavinsky kept watching him.                                                              

If he’d left his sunglasses on Ronan would have been able to wait until the ice cream was liquid and the sun was gone. Without them, though, Ronan felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, telling him that Kavinsky’s eyes were a threat, demanding his reaction.

He looked away. “I’m not going to eat that shit, man, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

That lazy grin was back and Kavinsky was pulling the ice cream toward him, picking up a spoon. “So he does speak.”

“Fuck you.” There was no heat in his voice.

Kavinsky took a bite of the ice cream and sucked the spoon into his mouth, staring at Ronan. He let it pop out with an obscene noise and turned his head, looking around them.

“I don’t think so, not here anyway. Prokopenko already got us into trouble for indecent exposure this week. Don’t want to create a trend, man.”

His voice carried over the tables and Proko shot up from where he was draped over his. “C’mon, man, that was your fault!”

Kavinsky cast a sideways glance at Proko and Ronan noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. “I would say that too, if I were you, Proko.”

Long limbs were crowding into Ronan’s space and Prokopenko’s voice was obnoxiously loud in his ear as the other boy argued with Kavinsky.

His best protests were shot down with a smirk and Skov came to his defense, Swan trailing after him. With the three additions to their table, Jiang was left with empty seats all around him. Kavinsky’s eyes flicked toward him once and he was joining them, taking Kavinsky’s side in the argument. Jiang asked what Ronan thought it of it, trying to even the sides.

Ronan leaned back onto two legs of his chair and pretended to consider it.

There was sweat beading on the back of his neck and the sickeningly sweet scent of ice cream invading his nostrils. He was surrounded by five boys engaging in a discussion so idiotic that it would never make its way into Monmouth or a booth at Nino’s. Skov was lighting a cigarette and there was white residue on the table. Swan had scabs on his knuckles, and he could feel Kavinsky’s knee pressing into his under the table.  None of them were okay, and they were okay with that. They weren’t posturing or pretending to be people they weren’t

He told them it sounded like it was most likely Kavinsky’s fault and the leg pressed to his, kicked him.

 He gave himself another partial thought. _I could get used to this._

//

_I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight._

_I didn't mean to fall in love tonight._

_You're looking like you fell in love tonight._

_Could we pretend that we're in love?_

The next time Kavinsky collected Ronan from Monmouth, it was late enough that even Gansey had won the battle against his insomnia and fallen asleep. He didn’t arrive with a thumping bass or squealing tires, but with a text to Ronan’s phone, _come down here_ , and his headlights turned off.

Same as he did the time before, he left his keys, slipped past Gansey and out of Monmouth in silence. And same as the time before, Joseph was leaning against the Mitsubishi.

Once he was close enough, Ronan could see that Joseph’s hair was a rumpled and soft looking mess, his missing sunglasses were causing the bags under his eyes to appear several shades darker, and he was dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top.

 He observed Ronan for a moment before his wrist flashed out and he flicked his keys to Ronan. The glint of the key caught in the weak moonlight and Ronan caught it, swallowing when instead of a keychain, he found the keys attached to a loop of knotted leather.

Joseph snorted softly and slid into the passenger’s seat. Ronan went around the front of the car and climbed in behind the wheel. Once the engine was running, humming under Ronan’s control, Joseph spoke, and the sound was both hoarse and quiet. “Take us away, Lynch.” Then he let his head thump back against the seat.

Something had changed in him.

Ronan was high on the control he had over the Mitsubishi, the speed, the adrenaline, the feeling that he could drive anywhere and Joseph wouldn't stop him. The minutes and miles flew by and neither one of them spoke. He could feel Joseph’s gaze on him and he knew he was being observed and analyzed, or at least it felt that way.

Without realizing where he was driving to, he took them to the old fairground. There he stopped the car and turned to face the other boy.

Joseph quietly watched Ronan watch him, watched the cogs in Ronan’s head spin until it clicked.

“You’re sober.”

Joseph nodded. “Oh shit, you got me, man.” Any other time this would be said in a voice teeming with antagonism and paired with a scornful smile. Now it was just dry, with a layer of amusement and buried relief.

Ronan flexed his hands on the steering wheel and let his head fall against the headrest. “Why?” Why did he fetch Ronan tonight of all nights, when he was sober? And why _was_ he sober?

 “Because I wanted to,” His voice was closer than before and when Ronan turned his head, Joseph was only a few inches away from him. “And I wanted this.”

He wrapped a hand around the back of Ronan’s neck and closed the distance between their lips. It wasn’t rough or biting the way Ronan expected it to be. It was warm and soft, like the hand on his neck, and Joseph’s lips weren’t nearly as chapped as Ronan had been imagining them to be.  He pulled back and looked at the boy next to him, really looked, and it dawned on him that he’d been wrong at the ice cream shop.

Joseph Kavinsky was not okay, and he wasn’t pretending to be fine. That part was right. Where he’d been wrong was in assuming they weren’t pretending to be people they weren’t.

Because here he was, sitting in a car made for street racing, parked in a field designated as a substance use zone, kissing a boy who should have been his enemy.

Ronan wasn’t pretending not to be the boy who he was in that moment, nor was he pretending not to be the boy who had a pet bird and explored caves with his friends. Instead, he was pretending that they weren’t the same boy.

And in front of him was a boy who threw substance parties and street raced and blew cars up. And that same boy was the one who dreamed Ronan’s bracelets and bought him ice cream and got sober to kiss him. He too, was pretending the two versions weren’t the same boy.  

Ronan returned the gesture and wrapped a hand around Joseph’s neck, tangled it in his hair. Before closing the distance between them he muttered, “I want it too,” and he knew that he did.

Ronan let himself think the truth. _I could fall in love with this._


End file.
